


Tailored

by AshlarKithkanan



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Royal Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-24
Updated: 2011-06-24
Packaged: 2017-10-20 16:49:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshlarKithkanan/pseuds/AshlarKithkanan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the week before the Royal Wedding. (England and London father-son bonding over suits.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tailored

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aeld](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Aeld).
  * Inspired by [Bad Influence](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/3621) by Aeld. 



England sighed in impatience as he stood stiffly in the middle of all the mirrors with the royal tailor walking around him and making thoughtful "hmm"s and the occasional vexed "tsk"s.

"Well Mr. Kirkland, despite your..." he looked pointedly at England's middle and coughed discreetly.

He raised a massive eyebrow in question, too tired to snap at the man to spit it out.

"Despite your slight _weight gain_ from the month-long pre-Royal wedding binge drinking celebrations, the morning suit still fits you." The tailor sniffed in delicate disdain. The word " _barely_ " hung frostily in the air as England scowled at him.

London snickered from the corner of the room. His fitting had been done a week before due to the Queen's insistence. He had barely participated in the festivities sweeping through the rest of the UK. All his free time had been devoted to running around: securing the venues, holding daily meetings with the caterers and hoteliers, giving and getting briefings from Scotland Yard and lastly, keeping the details of the wedding dress under utmost security.

England wearily removed the silvery grey tie and flung it into the corner. Where London happened to be sitting. Maybe not the most mature of all responses, but the indignant squawk he earned was worth it. A corner of his mouth twitched up into a small smirk as he watched his capital, no, his son glare at him in mock anger. He almost didn't notice the strangled noises the tailor was making. He finally broke his staring match with London when the aggrieved tailor began berating him to treat the clothing more carefully... in rapid fire French.

Blinking rapidly, England slowly turned back towards London, who was trying to become one with the wall. Before he could say anything, the capital hurriedly shoved the indignant tailor out of the room with a, "Cheers Mr Dupont! The Prime Minister shall see you in the fitting suite next door."

He slammed the door shut and turned to face England, whose face was rapidly turning red in anger. He opened his mouth to explain but he was cut off.

"Where is my usual tailor from Savile Row?" he bit out violently, unbuttoning his vest and moving to shuck both vest and jacket onto the floor.

London hurriedly averted the crisis by blurting out, "If you damage the suit you will have nothing to wear to the wedding. Father, he _is_ from Gieves and Hawkes."

"But he's French!" England snapped, reluctantly shrugging the unbuttoned vest and coat back on. "Why can't I just wear my bloody military uniform? Prince William will be wearing..."

"For both security and political reasons. You know that Father. You know how tense and volatile the situation is this past couple of weeks. And it may even affect the outcome of the AV voting. And then there are the rumours of rallies and terrorism activity. I will not have our people, our guests exposed to such risks. I will not." London stared defiantly at him.

England sighed and looked at him, really looked at him properly since a week ago. The capital's eyes have dark bags underneath them and he was way too pale. Exhaustion was written across his features alongside the excitement for the Royal Wedding.

He knows that even though London had been through this for hundreds of years, every Royal wedding is stressful in it's own way. He remembered Charles's and Diana's wedding. Remembered how they had named their first born son after his own, in genuine love and affection for their capital.

He shook his head and smiled gently. "I won't allow that either. I'm sorry for adding to the stress. This suit will be fine. Everything will be fine."

London merely straightened his dishevelled suit and fussed about the lapels, hand pausing over England's heart.

His heart.

His capital.

His son.

 _Me._

 

Flushing a deep red, he stepped away and cleared his throat. "Well, I'd best be going then. I have to supervise the preparation of the maple trees for transport to the abbey."

The silence stretched between them, deepening like the shadows falling into the room from the late afternoon light. A thousand emotions swam in circles, unable to speak yet all the more bitter-sweet for it.

Finally, England nodded and stepped back, carefully taking off the suit layer by layer. London dutifully took it off his hands and placed it on a hanger, running his fingers down the fine fabric before hanging it on the rack. The waistcoat came next, pearl buttons gleaming softly in the afternoon light.

"I can finish undressing myself you know. I thought you were needed somewhere else." England grumped as he began to unbutton his silk shirt.

London gave him a "look".

"Bugger off. I promise not to inflict damage to it."

"See 'ya then." Smiling softly, London picked up his briefcase from the floor and turned to go. He paused with his hand on the door handle when he heard his father mumbling softly, gaze determinedly fixed out of the window and at the busy streets below.

"Beg your pardon?"

England flushed, ears going red and he took a deep breath. "I said... I'm proud of you. More than you will ever know. I always have been."

"I... uh. Th-thank you. That means a lot. To me, I mean." London fumbled with his words, the unexpected emotion that England, his father, the pirate gentleman showed had him floored.

"Well? Haven't you got trees to inspect?" Green eyes so glared at him, daring him to break out into something mushy and sentimental.

"Right, I'd best be off then!" And with that, he set off with a cheerful step and renewed spirits. _I will make sure that this wedding will be fantastic!  
_  
~~v~~

Epilogue:

He was already running late. His car keys had been left behind at the tailor's suites at the ninth floor and he had absolutely no time to go back up for it. Besides, he might embarrass himself by flinging himself at England and hugging him. No, best to take a bus and hope that the traffic isn't so bad.

A big brown blur sped past him towards the elevator and he whipped his head to see the number 50 proudly emblazoned on the bomber jacket's back. Blue eyes glinted with mischief from behind clear glasses as America threw him a jaunty salute before the steel doors closed on him.

Eyebrows raised in confusion, he thought about phoning his father that America is on his way up, but then the bus arrived and everything else took second place. He sprinted through the lobby, out into the cool afternoon air and just barely got into the bus as it started to move. Ah, it was a beautiful day.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:
> 
> [Saville Row](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saville_Row) -  is a shopping street in Mayfair, central London, famous for its traditional men's bespoke tailoring. The term "bespoke" is understood to have originated in Savile Row when cloth for a suit was said to "be spoken for" by individual customers.
> 
>  
> 
> [Gieves and Hawkes](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saville_Row#Gieves_.26_Hawkes) \- Official royal tailors to Queen Elizabeth II, the Duke of Edinburgh, and the Prince of Wales.
> 
> [Aeld's](http://aeld.livejournal.com/) Bad Influence Series - a series of fancomics that feature anthropomorphic representations of some of the Capitals in Hetalia. London is William Kirkland in that -verse.


End file.
